


Sweet Surrender

by slyyywriting



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:27:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27928252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slyyywriting/pseuds/slyyywriting
Summary: It's baby fever.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 73





	Sweet Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> This one is short. There's no actual description of smut but there is?? I made it seem like waxing poetic lol

“There’s no way.” You grumble just as you get out of the car.

There’s about thirty kids of various levels of sweaty and sticky running around the new Stark property. You thought the whole point of living in the woods that there were going to be less people around, so why the hell is it now litterred with a bunch of first graders?

Bucky chuckles at the obvious disdain on your face. This was going to be a long day for you.

“Auntie!” A familiar high pitched voice pulls you out of your subtle head count of the critters as the owner of the voice runs straight for you. You grunt with a soft oof before raising her into your arms.

“Hello, Baby Goon!” You greet the little Stark and smush your cheek with hers. She giggles, all air and sound, enjoying being treated like a puppy.

“Nuh-uh! I’m seven today. I’m no baby anymore.” Morgan protests and you agree with a hum before carrying her back into her birthday party. Bucky looks at your figure being enveloped by a child and his stomach does a little flip. He gives out a deep exhale and gathers your gifts from the car’s backseat, following shortly.

You settle Morgan down and greet the adults you see at the party, immediately escaping at lightning speed into the kitchen inside, to find a drink– or Pepper, whichever you find first. As it turns out, you spot orange juice and a hidden vodka bottle.

“Honey, it’s 11am!” Pepper chuckles from the screen door, eyeing you with both amusement and concern. Your response was to make her a glass as well which she takes without protest. A hug greets her properly followed by a kiss to the cheek.

“Have you seen your lawn? My drinking is the least of your problems, me thinks.” You tease, mostly serious, as you look out the window.

You peep your boyfriend outside chasing a bunch of kids with a water balloon. His hair was soppy with colored water, shining like a gem that was made to be in the sun, cheeks tinged pink from the enjoyment of running away from three-foot-something gremlins armed with water guns. The carefree demeanour causing your ears to go hot before the warmth transfers itself into a part of your belly, making your knuckles recoil and stay fisted. Anticipation but for what exactly, you’re not sure. Sweet denial.

You help Pepper put more refreshments and snacks on the buffet table in front of the house. The lawn has been transformed into a more birthday friendly scene, tables and chairs and a small stage set up for entertaining. Laughter fills the air, carried out through the trees as the wind blows with it in its coattails. There is peace brought by a little girl’s special day.

“Hey, babe? Could you please do me a favor?” Bucky’s voice draws out from behind you. He’s now soaking from head to shoes, in his arms a random child, grinning like it was his day too. “I can’t see anymore and I cant5 let Devon go because he’s the other team’s leader.”

You sigh in defeat as your manchild positions himself lower, giving you access to his hair. You pull out an elastic band from your wrist and tie his hair in a bun. He smiles as a thanks and gives you a quick peck on the lips, running away again to continue their game before his hair had stalled them.

The sun reaches its peak and the games are traded for food. A chorus of happy birthday is sung, candles blown out and now kids are enjoying food messily. You sit at a table with more adults, enjoying the banter, grievances of parents mostly, directed towards offspring they swear they despise but still would give an arm, a leg and a kidney for. All the while, the hand on your thigh squeezes in intervals of soft to urgent to just– something else entirely. Bucky glances at you, smiles a bit then gives you a small unprompted kiss. You raise a brow, a clarification brushed off again and again with a noncommittal shrug. There is heat in his ears and a warmth in the space between your thighs.

Much later, when the party has concluded and there is only you and him in the space of your quarters, the unanswered clarification gets a light in a form of deep kisses, unhurried but gravely wanton. Pants of breath drawn out when a surface of your skin meets his own, slick with sweat, sweet and salty, an earthly mixture so human it never fails to remind you of mortality and the fleeting presence of people– love, desire– unless you leave something concrete behind as proof.

Teeth gnashing into tongues, tongues tracing patterns into exposed necks, shoulders, thighs, that’s where the answer lies. A soft grunt, a soft push followed by something more desperate, more primal illuminated only by the moon that managed to peek through blowing curtains. A rhythmic build lasting minutes before a change of position causes a gasp, of pleasure, of surprise, of surrender draws white lightning behind your eyelids. Sweet acquiescence.

“Are you sure?” He clarifies once more.

A nod, a soft push of his naked behind furthering himself into you, succumbing to feeling of him filling you up. Legacy. Concrete evidence of love to withstand you and him. Another soft grunt followed by more thrusts, into oblivion, stars glitter his closed eyes. Sealed promises.

There’s no one he’d rather be with, he knows this. Told you time and time again, sober, drunk in love, in ecstasy, in you; only you. However, he knows this time, he will be with you and somebody else. Creation divine.


End file.
